The Start of Something Good
by Batsy Rocks
Summary: "It wasn't until I had you in my arms; hurt and bleeding just for being close to me, and with Xa-Du's words echoing in my head that I realized how especial you are to me. Not just as Batman fighting at my side, but as Bruce Wayne-the real Bruce Wayne-my friend. The man I trust with my life and so much more..."


**a/n:** Okay, uh. There's major spoilers for the whole 'Superman's Joker Arc' (Batman/Superman issues #16 to #20) so read it at your own risk if you haven't read the comics. And if you don't mind getting spoilered, I believe you would be able to understand what's going on without having read them. _Mostly._

 **Disclaimer:** I don't own Justice League or any of its characters. Really, I don't.

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It was less than twenty four hours after the bittersweet showdown with the man who attempted to destroy him and Clark was sitting in an antique and comfortable sofa in the parlor of Wayne Manor, a mug of warm coffee between his hands and a plate of freshly made scones placed on the coffee table by Alfred just minutes ago.

To his right, sitting on the other equally elegant sofa in the room was Bruce, sipping from his own coffee mug. He was relaxed-or as relaxed as he could ever be-wearing a pair of loose fitting pants and a dark cotton pullover, his legs crossed before him and feet shoeless. The book he had been reading when Clark arrived was placed on the empty side of the sofa.

The silence was comfortable. A blessed and much needed calm after the storm of destruction that only hours ago threatened to shatter his life to pieces.

It was Bruce how had invited him over; asking him to read over some coding he had been working on for the system in the cave, in what Clark was sure he thought was a very _subtle_ way to check on him. It had made Clark smile when he read the message, and it made him smile now, forcing him to lift the mug to his lips to cover it.

He had asked him to fly to the Manor rather than the cave, and had then played artfully to Alfred's politeness to stay here instead of dragging him straight to the cave. Not that Clark was complaining. Not at all.

The first thing Clark had done after leaving Kandor and returning to his normal size had been fly toward Felicity Regan-Glory Miau's-home, leaving with a lighter heart after their talk, but still solemn. After that he went to pay his respects to the family of Carlos Gutierrez; the man that died for wearing his family crest at the hands of a madman obsessed with revenge.

The family of Carlos Gutierrez was just as he imagined the man had been; humble, kind and honest, but above it all, good-hearted people. After explaining the situation as best as he could, and offering a heartfelt apology that the mother and sister accepted effortlessly, Clark asked tentatively for any details they were willing to share of the life of Carlos Gutierrez. He had wanted to know more about the man that every weekend put on a suit and went to Metropolis City Center Hospital, to light up the day of little sick children confined to their beds.

He stayed for a few hours in the small house on the east side of Metropolis, listening attentively as the older woman described his deceased son to a stranger, with a fragile voice that broke down on several occasions during her narratives. With tears that didn't stop coming and fleeting smiles that didn't reach her sad brown eyes.

For a second, Clark wished they hated him for what happened. That they blamed him. He thought maybe that would have been better than their understanding, their compassion. That it would have made it easier, somehow.

It was as he flew away that he vowed to take Carlos Gutierrez's self-imposed duty on his own, and visit the hospital at least once a month to carry on with the dedicated and selfless task the man had realized for four years, ten months and eleven days. Until his last breath left his body.

Clark leaned forward to put his mug on the table, elbows resting on his knees. "He was right."

"Excuse me?"

"Xa-Du. He was right. _'The one you confide in the most. The one who understand you the best. The one you'll miss more than any other when he dies.'_ " Clark raised his head to meet Bruce's eyes. "He was right. It is you."

 _"Clark ..."_ Mug resting on his bend knee and dark brows knitted together, Bruce looked at him.

"You're my best friend. You always have been, but it wasn't until now that I realized you are more than that."

Bruce shifted his gaze minutely to the side as he sank almost imperceptibly into the sofa. Clark recognized the telltale signs of Bruce's discomfort, present any time someone talked about feelings to him, or even around him. He was really that bad about it.

"I'm not sure how many times I cursed you in my head as I flew there. I was so mad at you for launching such a risky plan without telling me anything and putting Lois in danger." He smiled lopsidedly. "And I thought _I_ was supposed to be the reckless one." Bruce opened his mouth to protest, but Clark spoke before he could. "You knew I was going to say no and that's why you did it that way, I know.

"And I also knew you were right. It was the only way to end it all without putting more people in danger."

They fell silent. Clark straightened up, his eyes flickering away from Bruce and being drawn to the fireplace. He watched the dancing flames, hearing the soft crackling and hissing as they devoured the wood.

"When I saw you two standing there ... when I heard the ... _projectile_ aimed at Lois, I was terrified I would be too late again. I just- I just acted, reaching to intercept it- _him."_ Clark's right hand twitched, as if feeling again the strange wave of heat as the Kandorian-Kan Ko, slipped between his fingers. "And then _he_ talked and I couldn't ... I just couldn't focus on what he was saying. I just knew the projectile went past Lois without hitting her, and yet it kept moving, eluding me and then- it was as if time had slowed down as I finally realize why, but at the same time it happened so fast that I could do nothing but watch as it made its way toward you."

Clark had very little doubt Bruce would rather be talking about almost anything else, but even if he wouldn't admit it, Clark also knew he wanted to make sure he was okay, and the only way to do that was hear him out. So he was using that to his advantage right now.

"I felt ... I don't know how I felt when I saw you tumble down," Clark squeezed his eyes closed, "When I saw the blood. But I wasn't just terrified anymore. That was so much worse. It felt as if something inside of me just- _broke."_

Bruce shifted uncomfortably in his seat, coffee mug long forgotten on the table besides Clark's.

"And I launched after you, even before I knew what I was doing. Before I could fully understand what had happened." Clark looked down at Bruce's hands, pale long fingers fidgeted with the fabric of his pants. "I could hear your heartbeat, your breathing, but it wasn't until I heard your voice that I breathed again." The corner of his lips twitched slightly. "And it wasn't the Kryptonite."

"I have been hurt plenty of times before in your presence," Bruce pointed out, piercing blue eyes meeting Clark's own.

"I know."

"And this was _by far_ not the worst of them."

"I know. I've hated each and every one of those times too, believe me. But this time was different." Clark paused. "I was so relieved I didn't have to face this on my own; to have you by my side, supporting me, that I didn't realize you were the perfect target all along for someone who wanted to hurt me. I knew it subconsciously, or at least a part of me knew it, I think, but I was too frustrated and angry to think clearly."

Clark rubbed a hand across his face, forcing himself to continue. "It wasn't until I had you in my arms; hurt and bleeding just for being close to me, and with Xa-Du's words echoing in my head that I realized how especial you are to me. Not just as Batman fighting at my side, but as Bruce Wayne-the real Bruce Wayne-my friend. The man I trust with my life and so much more..."

The steady rhythm of Bruce's heartbeat quicken slightly, even if his face was a blank mask; showing no sign of being affected by anything Clark had said so far. He took a deep breath. He wasn't sure if this was the best time or way to say this. He just knew he had to do it now.

"I love Lois. Maybe I always will. But it's not the kind of love that makes you want to spend the rest of your life with someone, or wish the other person was with you in the most unexpected times. The kind that makes you love everything about someone, even the things you don't like." Clark gave him a rueful smile. "It took me a long time to understand that."

"Clark, I ... It's normal that you're confused. After so many people close to you attacked, it's only natural that-"

Clark didn't let him finish. In the blink of an eye he was kneeling before Bruce, lifting a hand to cup the other man's cheek as he brought their lips together. The kiss was soft and gentle. Tentative. He was so lost in the feeling of Bruce's lips under his own that it took him a moment to realize Bruce wasn't responding; to sense the stiffness of his body. Clark was just about to pull back-and probably flee away with a stammered apologize-when he felt Bruce's lips slowly moving against his own, kissing him back.

"This is a terrible idea," Bruce murmured, but didn't pull away fully.

"Mmm,"

"You agree?"

Clark's lips twitched. Even if the light touch of surprise in his voice hadn't been telling enough, the fact he didn't need to open his eyes to know he was under Bruce's scrutinizing gaze was. "This could be a very bad idea, you're right. _Or,_ it could be the best idea we've ever had. I'll like to find out which one it is."

"Do you have to be so damn optimistic all the time?"

Bruce's tone was snappy and his expression annoyed, but the warmth in his smoldering blue eyes and soft glint belied the act.

"Well, someone has to make up for your cynical nature, I think."

It was Bruce who closed the distance between them this time, taking him by surprise. He pulled him closer with an almost rough tug, his arms going around him and his fingers sliding through dark hair. Clark felt a gentle bit on his lower lip, and a moment later Bruce's tongue was slowly parting his lips, deepening the kiss. It tasted of coffee, with a faint touch of blueberry.

Clark had just bared his soul and heart to Bruce; had told him he loved him in _every_ possible way without actually voicing those three little words (because he knew Bruce, and knew saying the words would only make him pull back) and yet had received no reply from the man before him. Not a verbal one in any case.

The shudder of Bruce's powerful body under his fingers. The muted hitch in his breath. The feel of his warm tongue exploring. The muffled moans against his bare skin. The expression of genuine pleasure on his face ... They were all the answer he needed and more.

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 **a/n:** Yeaaah. If those panels are not enough proof of just how much these two love each other I don't know what is. And okay, I'm afraid I may have made Clark a bit too sappy here, so I'm sorry about that. I also realize Clark didn't give Bruce much of a chance to talk, but well, you know Bruce, so that's probably a good thing since he would have come up with dozens of reasons why they shouldn't do this so. Yep, Clark did the right thing.

This also my very first time writing slash, so I would appreciate any comments or critics on how I did it :)

Lastly, English is not my native language, so any tips or corrections are welcome.


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